Friday, February 22, 2013 - The Second Week Home

The honeymoon is over. 

Someone, I forget who now, called the first week or so when a person returns home after a prolonged hospital stay “The Honeymoon Period”.    

I didn’t understand that expression at first.  How could that be?  Isn’t it wonderful for both the patient and the family to again be under one roof?  That’s why I can’t recall who threw out that term.  It was something I quickly dismissed, although I did find that it niggled in my brain from time to time that first week. 

Our first week was busy with appointments and getting Marc settled into life at home.  There was a new routine to establish and therapy appointments to fit into our lives.  It was rather exhausting but it was also very nice.  Marc was home and life was good.  We had adapted everything that needed adapting to Marc’s recovery needs and it was all working very well.

I knew the honeymoon was over last Sunday.   

We don’t take the walker upstairs at night because it is literally two steps to the bathroom and our bedroom is beside that, with the foot of our bed being just inside the door and to the right.  The walker wasn’t practical in this instance so we opted for me to be behind him as he walks those few steps.  I get up at night and walk with him to the bathroom when the need arises, ensuring that he is safe. 

That night I ended up sleeping just down the hall in our spare bedroom.  Marc had been tossing and turning when I went to bed at midnight and he was keeping me awake.  He promised he would call out to me when he needed to use the facilities. 

And he did.  Once. 

In the morning I awoke to a noise coming from down the hall.  I couldn’t place it so I peeked out the bedroom door.  There was Marc, very quietly inching his way out of the bathroom, clutching the door jamb as he rounded his way back into our bedroom. 

Busted.

Later that morning in the kitchen, I turned to see Marc carrying his cereal bowl and walking across the kitchen to where he had left his walker. 

Busted.  Again. 

I was furious.  Did he not get it?  He is still minus a bone flap on the right side of his head.  If he falls and bumps it he risks death or possibly severe brain damage.  With his balance not yet at optimum performance, combined with the left neglect, it’s a recipe for disaster. 

He couldn’t see my point of view and I refused to yield to his insistence that he is “okay”.  My job is to get him well safely.  We spent a frosty two days until we were finally able to talk it out and come to an agreement.  He would use his walker at all times or have me as spotter until we could speak to his physiotherapist later in the week.  We agreed that her word was law. 

Needless to say, his physiotherapist wants Marc using the walker, or my assistance, at all times.  She was also our tie breaker on the issue of walking while holding the walker with one hand and a glass or dish in the other.  She reinforced what I was trying to get across to Marc.  Whatever he wanted to carry is to sit on the seat of his walker so he has both hands on the handles for safety. 

The honeymoon might be over but at least life feels much safer now, at least from my perspective.    

After that little episode, the rest of the week went much smoother and ended with a real treat.  We chose this afternoon to return to the rehab floor at RVH for a visit.  Marc and I wanted to visit his old roommate who is still recovering from his stroke.  It was wonderful to see him again.

It was also nice to visit the staff and some of the other patients that Marc had gotten to know.  Two weeks ago today they cheered Marc on during his victory lap as he left the care of the hospital and wheeled his way to reality.  Today he was back as a visitor, free to leave when he’d had his fill. 

We got such a nice, warm reception from everyone we encountered.  It’s hard to explain, but part of me misses the rehab floor.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m very happy not to have to make the trek to the hospital every day and I’m ecstatic that Marc is home.  It’s just that being there had become such a routine.  Everyone was so nice and Marc got such great care.  That’s the part that I miss. 

The honeymoon may be over but now the real living begins.  Marc continues to improve steadily and one day we won’t have to battle it out over his safety. 

I can’t say that life is getting back to normal because what was once normal is now a thing of the past.  We are now working on the “new normal” and discovering together what this next chapter of our life will look like. 

I’m pretty sure that whatever awaits us, it will be an adventure.